5 & Countin'
by RunMoogles
Summary: This short takes place when Mercer disguises himself as a Blackwatch soldier and commands a helicopter on a series of missions. This is after the first phone call he receives from his mysterious contact during the chapter 'Men Like Gods'.


**Disclaimer & A/N: **I do not own prototype. Special thanks to DarkGidora helping with a detail.

**5 Min. & Countin'**

_This short takes place when Mercer disguises himself as a Blackwatch soldier and commands a helicopter on a series of missions. This is after the first phone call he receives from his mysterious contact during the chapter 'Men Like Gods'._

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"Where the fuck is Lamons?" The woman's voice was muffled by the mask on her face, though her squad heard her well enough over their linked radios. Down below a rank stench wafted into the air. The streets were filled with the sounds of explosions issuing from tanks, metal crunching, people screaming, and horrific monsters roaring.

"Running late, I guess." Another soldier replied. His name was Jimmy Fargos, and he was an easy going man. He held his standard issue rifle against his chest, the nose pointed toward the ground in a state of rest. Around them chaos ensued, but they were comfortably out of reach up on a roof top.

"This isn't a goddamn tea party, Fargos." The woman, they liked to call Smithy Lin, spat in reply. She wasn't supposed to be on the front lines, but the situation had long ago become desperate enough. Ideally she belonged in the weapons bay.

"No good bein' touchy Lin. Save it for the fuglies." Ever the calming voice of reason, a tall soldier by the last name of Jarcov stepped between the two. He also held his weapon in a relaxed position as he ambled forward. He remained a stark contrast to the anarchy rumbling below on the streets.

They all turned and looked up in unison when the familiar and comforting sounds of a helicopter's blades chopping through the air reached them. It was still a ways off, but the big goose was a loud one, and announced its coming arrival far before it was anywhere near to landing. They backed away when it finally came to hover, and then land. Jarcov set off to it, issuing orders to move, followed by Fargos, Lin, and their youngest team mate at eighteen, Walsh. By ingrained habit, they didn't waste a second. They greeted the gunner, Roland, and pilot, Pfc. Timothy Lamons, jovially as they settled in.

"What took ya so long Lay-man?" Fargos greeted the pilot and long time friend, but didn't receive an answer when they were all radioed by command.

"_We need close support over by twenty, Ghost Twelve." _Command radioed into the cockpit, and everyone glanced at each other. This was a surprise, and not their original mission.

"Roger, en route," Lamons's voice issued over the radio. The team all shifted uncomfortably, no longer at ease with the sudden change in the mission. They were flying into unfamiliar territory now without any briefing or understanding of the situation prior to becoming involved in it.

"This'll be exciting." Walsh was the first to break the silence to let off some worry, and Fargos followed with what sounded like a nervous laugh. "Hey Lamons, when you get back, you gonna give that sister of yours my number?" There was a smile in Walsh's words as he asked the question; half serious and half bashful joking. Lamons glanced back at him real quick.

"Yeah, sure. Gotta get your ass through this first, though," Lamons answered, licking his lips as he lined the helicopter up with their target. A giant hive loomed on the ground beneath them. Commentary from the take commanders rose up through the intercoms, filling the noisy chopper with the static ridden messages.

"Prep for fire," Lamons issued to Roland, who nodded and set his sights and let loose once they were lined up. The helicopter jerked only slightly with each loosing of a missile.

"Yeah, yeah. For a pretty girl, sure." Walsh muttered, thinking of the picture Lamons had shown him hours ago this morning, and the guys chuckled. Even Lin joined in with a clipped laugh. Fargos couldn't see her face behind the gas mask, but he was sure she was clenching her jaw and glaring at ground zero.

"You know, that's the first thing I'mma do when I get home," Fargos said, gesturing toward Walsh. "I'mma give that girl at the coffee shop my number."

"Sure you are," Jarcov grinned and clapped Fargos on the shoulder.

"No, I'm serious. I'm finally just going to… just… do it. I'm going to give her my number." He was trying to convince his larger comrade but the guy just shook his head.

"You can't brave flirting with a girl you've been visiting for months any more than you could handle shaking hands with ZEUS." Jarcov chuckled over the comm.

"You think it shakes hands, do you?" Lin blanched at Jarcov.

"Might. Never tried," Walsh, in all his innocence, suggested. Lamons snorted in amusement from up in the pilot's seat.

"What was that, Lamons? Catch a bug?" Jarcov joked.

"I'll hand over my paycheck for the next year if you shake hands with ZEUS," they heard Lamons say with a laugh from over the comm.

"You don't make enough for me to take that bet," Jarcov grumbled jokingly.

"No one makes enough," Lin commented.

"See Jarcov, you're a pansy too!" Walsh joked, slapping him on the shoulder and missing terribly when the helicopter jerked upon firing one of the larger missiles. The radio garbled some nonsense but none of them could hear it over the loud explosions causing a raucous beneath them. Lin stared out of the window, telling those out of viewing range that the building had gone down but soldiers were still being harassed by infected. A quick beep alerted them all to the radio and they zoned in before the orders even arrived.

"_This is what we call a target rich environment, Ghost Twelve. Your assignment is close air support of any ground forces that request it. Your targets will automatically be prioritized by your flight systems. Soon as you're clear, touch down."_

"Confirmed Red Crown. I'm on it." Lamons responded in a lazy manner as he flicked back the latch that covered a little red button. Roland was already prepped for fire.

"Looks like you're doing all the work today, Lamons." Jarcov had been watching his fellow comrade for the better part of the ride. He'd been feeling a little suspicious ever since Lamons had arrived late. Usually the guy was a little less stiff around Fargos, Walsh, and him. Maybe it was Lin.

"Yeah but we're on ground right here after, huh?" Walsh was holding his gun tightly, his knuckles white where they could be seen poking out of the cut fingered gloves. Both Fargos and Jarcov looked down at him slowly.

"Yeah. It's your first time on ground, huh?" Fargos placed a reassuring hand on Walsh's shoulder, but it didn't seem to have the young soldier relaxing his hold on his rifle at all. "We'll watch out for you, don't worry." As he said this, Jarcov glanced up at him sharply. Even Lamons glanced back in surprise. An uncomfortable silence shoved its way into the cockpit and everyone shifted uneasily.

"My wife wants to have a really big party when I get back. You're all invited," Jarcov said, breaking the tension. "You'll have to bring that coffee shop girlfriend of yours that you can't stop talking about," he said to Fargos.

"Yeah isn't your little girl's birthday today?" Lamons asked.

"Fuck!" Jarcov exclaimed, hissing over the radio. "I was going to sing her Happy Birthday over the damn video chat, goddammit. How the hell do you remember that when I forget?!"

"You were going to _sing?!_" Fargos blanched at Jarcov, seeing the well over six foot, couple hundred pounds of muscle, comrade of his in a whole new light.

"Oh my God I can't believe I forgot," Jarcov slapped his face mask with his gloved hand, ignoring Fargos as he gave himself a good inward lashing.

"I'm sure she'll forgive you," Lin rolled her eyes and heaved an annoyed sigh. According to her there were far more important events of increasing concern taking place below than a missed birthday song by a father fighting a befuddling war on home turf for months on end.

"You have no compassion," Walsh whispered as he stared straight ahead.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Lin asked, feeling her hackles rise.

"We're touching down in a minute here, folks," Lamons announced.

"Damn fucking damn, I can't believe I forgot," Jarcov whispered, shaking his head.

"It's going to be alright dude, don't worry," Fargos attempted to reassure him.

"In a minute?!" Walsh erupted when they were informed they'd be on the ground soon.

"We're clear," Roland finally announced. They felt Lamons decrease the speed of the rotors and let the helicopter hover slowly into lower altitude until the ground came into contact. The helicopter settled onto the asphalt nicely. Inwardly, all its residents were fighting their own personal battles.

"Let's make this a clean, easy mission guys," Jarcov muttered. Everyone nodded as the doors ripped open. In perfect order, they all slipped out of the vessel and onto the street. Their weapons were at the ready as they moved toward the high priority situation. Lamons watched them go. He was their pilot in all their missions, and had been friends with them since he'd been assigned to the team weeks ago. Even though he couldn't accompany them past this point, he'd usually been allowed to remain in close distance until he was needed.

"_Requesting urgent assistance from all available units at area designated ten-ten-five-two."_

Today would be different. Today was already very different.

"Roger, en route," Pfc. Timothy Lamons answered. "Looks like we won't be sticking around today, Roland." His co-pilot nodded, keeping watch on the ground as they lifted off. They were waved down to land in a grassy field, and were hovered and ready to drop altitude when three separate parts of the concrete began to bulge upward and crumple apart to make way for three pointed tentacles the height of a small two story home. The wave in the air, their points splitting into two sharp javelins. Lamons reversed the downward drop, increasing the speed of the rotors to take back the altitude they'd been dropping. Roland didn't take time to accept any orders, which Lamons was privately thankful for, and began assaulting the things, Hydras, with missiles. They waggled in the air and plucked up damaged vehicles with all the hesitancy of a child picking dandelions, before unceremoniously hurling them at any one of the helicopters in the air. Gunships banked wildly, and those that didn't met an unfortunate and rather explosive end.

"This is Red Crown you're clear to engage," came a belated order. It didn't matter. The gunship was already banking like a fly on the run while Roland heated up the guns and loosed shells and bullets on the fleshy things attacking them with oversized toys. Gore spewed from them, and several ducked underground only to crop up somewhere else. They were quicker to pick up some form of weapon, but also looser in their movements as though losing strength.

_"Targets terminated. Field units make way for evac, over."_

Orders followed for the evacuations that were required. Lamons gained altitude, swinging the gunship around fast enough to make Roland deliver him a sick look.

"Flying a little loosely today. Liquid lunch there, Lamons?" He gave him a mildly joking look that Lamons didn't seem to find funny. Roland didn't get a response, and decided to just shrug it off. Maybe the private had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Happened more often than not. They routed their trip to where their team had been dropped off by the hive, and the situation was relatively desolate and depressingly silent. Roland made to jump out of the bird but Lamons stopped him.

"I'll go. Defend the ship," he said. Roland gave him a single nod, placing his hands back on the main turret.

Pfc. Timothy Lamons strode slowly through the street, watching as a piece of torn and bloodied newspaper danced awkwardly through the stench filled breeze, tripping over bodies both infected and dead soldier alike. He looked at each face, those contorted and those merely locked in shock. None of them breathed. He continued his walk, and heard a moan. His steps picked up until he neared what looked like Fargos. Or half of Fargos, anyway. The boy's legs were gone, torn cleanly off and thrown God knows where. Probably a hunter. Timothy squinted, stared at those wide blue eyes, and thought.

He thought about a girl in some coffee shop somewhere in the world where ever it was Fargos had come from. Fargos gurgled something, and Timothy realized he wasn't quite dead yet. Stepping closer, he crouched, eyeing the young man.

"Lisette..." he gurgled. "'Er... name's... Lisette."

Their conversation on the chopper came back to him, and he glanced back at the ship to see Roland looking ahead, away from his current position. Alex Mercer pulled back the disguise, crouching back down again in front of the half soldier. Fargos' eyes flicked, perhaps an attempt to widen. And then his hand twitched, a dry cough like laugh gurgling from his throat. Mercer's gaze dropped to the hand, remembering the conversation as well. Thousands of memories guided his hand into the soldiers, and while Fargos couldn't move his, Alex shook it. The simple motion, though the soldier was half dying, connected his hand to the thousands of nerves and working systems below the living skin. It was out the last dregs of his remaining humanity that he didn't pull the soldier to him and consume what was left. The soldier gurgle-cough-laughed again, whistling in a throaty, blood laden breath, before he drowned on his own blood.

He stood up and returned his disguise, giving the chopper a cautionary glance before he continued back to it. On his way back he saw a thin figure slumped against the building opposite the hive. He saw Lin's eyes tracking him, her expression terrified yet guarded behind years of trained hardness. She knew who he was, wasn't dead yet, and wasn't quite dying. Yet, with her wounds and no evacuation team on the arrival, she'd likely die from the infection. He started toward her, knowing that technically, Lamons had been ordered on a finishing evacuation mission. He dropped down and rolled her onto his shoulder, and was surprised when her stoic demeanor allowed for a clipped cry of denial. She was harmed, and would be taken to the hospital. She wouldn't be in the way of his ulterior motives. Besides, he had to actually look like he was doing Lamons' job.

He shuffled her into the chopper, and thankfully, she remained relatively silent of coherent speech. He knew that she'd seen him. He just didn't care. He needed something to show for when he docked back at the base. He cast one more glance over the battlefield.

A small thing. A handshake. Yet it had been the soldier's last thought. Last memory.


End file.
